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North American (General)Transcript
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my skin was starting to blister from my writhing against the hardback chair had been tied to. I was still in my apartment. I could still see all of the things which had once made up my pitiful little life. But none of it was right. It had all been disturbed. Lucy A was sitting on the couch. Her head was resting on her hands and her elbows on the small coffee table in front of her. She looked happy. She looked happy and Onley the way an evil person could. I could see the reflection of my pain in her eyes. My pain was bringing them to life and filling them with a sense of Madden to beauty that only a serial killer could appreciate. You need to focus more, She told me. A really with the candle. She bled 10 minutes before still flickering in front of her face. I can't. I croaked out through my dry throat. I need to rest. I'm exhausted. It was true she hadn't let me sleep in two days. She kept me tied to the chair, working on my darkness so that when the time came, she could be sure that I'd be ready. I need some sleep I can't even see clearly anymore. She laughed shrilly with her head falling back and then quickly tipped it forward again as her laugh cut off. Curtly, do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I'm going to let you conspire against me with the light while you sleep? If you don't let me sleep that I'm gonna pass out anyway, I told her flatly. Then you will work until you pass out. She shrugged. Now focus on shutting out that light. I couldn't focus. I could barely see the candle. My face was aching with the residual pain from my birthmark. And I felt ready for death in a way I'd never known before. When the CIA had told me that the light would kill me, it had seemed like such a great treachery. But she'd change that. She turned death into something which seemed like a better alternative to what I was going through. At least in death, I'd find some peace. You're not trying, she said harshly. With her hand slamming down on the table. The candle's flame flickered over the sudden movement in the air before it steadied itself again. We don't have long left. Now. You need to try harder. What did she mean? That she didn't have much time left. She mentioned something when I first met her about my 23rd birthday. If I had counted the turns of the clock right then My birthday was due in the next 12 hours. And the impatience Lucille was displaying was leading me to believe that there might be a connection between the two. Try harder. She yelled at me. I can't. I croaked. I've told you I don't have any energy left. She stood quickly and walked over to me. She was carrying fury in her eyes that burned too hot to survive for long. Her hand pulled back and struck me across the face. It hurt, but not as much as my birthmark did. A sudden taste of coppery rust filled my mouth and I realized I was bleeding. I spat out the blood onto the dirty carpet in front of me and stared at her. You need to start doing what I tell you before we get into some real problems. She warned me. I glared at her. What part of I can't do it? Do you not understand? My head was starting to go light. I could feel my body swaying even though there wasn't a breeze to start the motion. The smack across the face had sent my thoughts into a days and I noticed a darkness edging into the corner of my vision. It was happening. I was passing out and there wasn't anything that she could do about it.